


Aqua Vitae Purls Sweetly in Nightmares

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bonding, Drama, Explicit Language, F/M, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mystery, Romance, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Slash sex, Spoilers, Suspense, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-30 22:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10173377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: Before he had a suicidal problem, Malfoy had a drinking problem. Before that... well, no one really knows what happened to Malfoy. Harry sees Draco, and wants to know him. He want to know about his temper, about his refusal to talk about himself, about why he never takes credit. 8th year fic. I don't own anything that belongs to J.K.R. This is just for entertainment.





	1. Return of the Realization

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

Please excuse the unrealistic fights.

* * *

The morning that it returned, Draco had woken up in a bit of a daze, as per usual. He had escaped his house before dawn, sat in the astronomy tower and breathed in as he let it out. Then he began the usual routine. He picked up the bottle of Moscato d'Asti, and steadily began to swallow. When he got halfway through, he put it away, and then picked up the Firewhiskey, Belvedere vodka, and the vintage Rum that he didn't read the name of, but knew he liked because it was pineapple. He then proceeded to shrink them and cast a Disillusionment Charm on them so that when and if someone happened to see them, they would look like they were vials filled with lizard intestines.

After going about his morning routine so resolutely, Draco walked clearheaded through the events of the day. He was more sure that he was unsure of what would happen after he went through his morning routine than what would happen during. It was something he had never failed to do since the day he had started it. He went through the day as normally as he could have for himself, and was relieved when he passed into lunch without a hit. 

By this time, the Belvedere had gone, along with half the bottle of pineapple Rum. Draco flicked his wand at himself as he walked down the corridor, a fresh feeling coming over him before he joined the mass of students crowding into the Great Hall. He sat in his usual seat, and automatically his cup filled itself. Now, Draco was not fool enough to drink so blatantly. He knew that other people would be able so smell it on his breath, and he would not be caught red handed if by some ungodly phenomenon he spilled any. 

No, Draco thought himself through. Even though this had been a need in the beginning, it was a choice now- or was it the reverse? Whatever the road, Draco made sure that by the end, there would be no consequence. So, he drank water. Whether it was alcoholic or not, Draco had a great thirst. He would always have to use the bathroom after every meal because of it. The blonde drank more than he ate, which would have been unhealthy, if not for the fact that he did eat a regular amount of food. 

Blaise Zabini took a seat down in front of him, but he paid no mind to him. Well, they didn't pay mind to one another unless they were in a spat. Usually, Draco half arsed those because he really didn't care about why the other boy was mad. That, and the fact that drinking made him apathetic to everything except his drinking. Draco snorted into his water. Blaise turned from his conversation and glared at him.

“Something funny?”

“What- No,” the blonde answered automatically, because he hadn't even been logged into human interaction. As usual, he was in his own little world. A sharp pang past through his chest as he swallowed another gulp of water. Draco gently placed the cup down and scowled at it. It was at that point that the realization returned. He had a hard time swallowing, and his brows furrowed. Something was going to happen... Something to do with his cup... No, not necessarily. Draco had learned long ago that he should never read the realizations directly. No, it was about his drinking. With a sinking feeling, he knew that it would end soon. His scowl deepened as he internally denied it. He could and would continue to drink if he pleased. It wasn't going to get him this time.

Blaise studied Malfoy's face for a while as he scowled at his cup. He scoffed internally. Maybe the little ponce was trying not to wretch up his food before he made it to the bathroom. The whole school was convinced that Malfoy was an anorexic as of late. There was no other way they could explain his trips to the bathroom after every meal. And underneath his clothes, he looked particularly small, though some would say they were just too large. People had whispered about it for quite some time, and were still whispering about it. Even though people didn't worry about his social status, or his world status, Malfoy was the hottest thing on the market, right next to Potter himself.

He was tall and lean and beautiful. Malfoy had almost porcelain skin, stormy gray eyes, and a 'cool guy' attitude. He wore his long hair in a braid over his shoulder, with a few strands hanging gracefully over his face. He had a grace that couldn't compare to anyone else's. To put a little mystery into him, he wore a single feather earring, which said to have been given to him by his father. To make that mystery a little larger, there was no clue as to where his parents were. No one had seen them since the war. There had been many rumors circulating, ranging from the Malfoy's going to France and leaving their son behind, to Malfoy having killed them with his own two hands.

Blaise didn't really care, but he liked to hang on to the belief that the blonde had killed them himself. What better way to confirm that he was a murderer?

“You didn't wish me a happy birthday,” the dark skinned man said, frowning almost mockingly at the other. Draco looked up from his almost finished plate of food, reached for a second helping of stake and shrugged.

“Aren't you going to wish me one now,” Zabini asked irritatedly after a few minutes. The blonde's plate was just about clear when he looked up again.

“No,” he said nonchalantly before he picked up his goblet once more and drank it's contents. By now, most of the Slytherin table was watching. The two had had altercations for the duration of the year. In fact, they had them more often than Draco had with Potter. Their fights were none, evidently, and Draco wanted to keep it that way.

“You don't even want me to wish you one.”

“Now I do,” Zabini said politely, eyes narrowing in challenge. Draco snorted.

“ Make up your fucking mind, Zabini. You're acting like a bitch,” he said, before standing up and calmly taking his leave.

The collective gasp of the Slytherin table had everyone turning their heads, including Harry. There was always an altercation in that house, namely between Malfoy and Zabini, but he never really paid them any mind. He was here for his last year, like the rest, and he wouldn't be put off because they were fighting. There was something new about this, however. The fight between the two usually took place during class or in between. They had never made a spectacle of themselves during lunch. 

They watched as Malfoy got up from his seat and made it part way down the hall before Zabini got up to follow him. Zabini put his hand on the blonde's shoulder and spun him around. The blonde didn't seem to be taking what he said seriously before he smirked and turned away, leaving the Great Hall without another word. Zabini's back tensed as he watched and then followed him out. 

“Wonder what they're on about now,” Neville said, squinting at the doors. 

“I don't,” Hermione said, “Whatever their differences, they'll work it out.”

“An' hopefully Malfoy'll be on the receiving end,” Ron said from behind his mashed potatoes. Harry glanced unbiasedly at Ron before looking back at the doors. He had a bad feeling... Hermione looked disgustedly at Ron before hitting him in the back of the head.

“Ouch! What was that for,” he whinged. Hermione glared harder at him, crossing her arms and sitting up straighter. Even if they had been dating, that didn't stop her from be an enforcer of good will and the rules.

“That was for-”

Her sentence had been interrupted by a very loud, very disturbing sound outside of the great hall. There was a moment of silence, in which Harry turned to the others, and a moment of recognition passed between them. They were the first to sprint out of the Great Hall, followed by the rest of the teeming Hall. 

Behind them all, Professor McGonagall was shouting, “Go immediately to your common rooms! None of you is to be seen wandering the halls until your next class!”

Harry doubted anyone would be paying attention to her. He ran down the corridor listening carefully. It wasn't hard to figure out where the sound had come from, because there was a steady stream of curses coming down one corridor. The Golden Trio ran down after it.

“What the bloody fuck have you done!? Let me out of here you lily arsed son of a bitch!”

“Why Blaise... I didn't know you liked my arse enough to know what it looked like,” Malfoy said, though there was no color to his voice. He sat beneath a whole in the wall big enough to fit three+ people in it comfortably. Not far from him, Zabini was trapped. Or at least- he seemed to be. There was an invisible barrier that he was struggling to get through. The look of fury on the swallow skinned young man's face was something they had never seen before. That really wasn't saying much, seeing as they didn't see much of him anyway. The corridor began to crowd with students and teachers alike. Harry began to realize that he had one of the first to run out, but had yet to take any action.

“Malfoy, what have you done to him,” he asked, sounding strangely imperious to his own voice. The blonde's response was very slow, and as Harry watched his eyes focus on himself, he realized that they had become disturbingly dark. 

“Sucking all the fun out of things, are you, Potter? Well, don't worry your little Savior head. He won't get hurt unless he's dumb enough to cast a curse,” he said, now moving to stand up as Professor McGonagall struggled to the front.

“What is going on here,” she asked in outrage, “Mr. Malfoy, release Mr. Zabini at once!”

“Alright then. Guess there's no room for fun today,” he said, flicked his wrist and took his wand from his sleeve. With a quick, noncommittal gesture, the force field disappeared. Zabini patted himself down as if he had been put in a bracing hold by an oaf. Harry narrowed his eyes at Malfoy's wand. If he hadn't had it out before, how had he cast the spell? Beside him, Hermione must have been thinking the same thing, because her brows furrowed in confusion.

“Now, Mr. Malfoy, you will apologize to Mr. Zabini.”

“You'd better,” the dark Slytherin said, “S'not everyday I can get you to admit to being the freak you are.”

“Mr. Zabini,” McGonagall puffed as the crowd grew on edge.

“I mean, you may have gotten away with being a sick little murder, but you can't get away with this,” he said, crossing his arms and looking rather pompous. It seemed as though he had figured Malfoy out completely. The blonde raised his eyebrows.

“Mr. Zabini!”

“Ah, those idiotic rumors. Someone must have thought themselves brilliant. Anyone can make those up. That's as true me saying,” Malfoy paused to think, body flowing into a foolish thinking pose, as if it was a challenge. He snorted.

“My parents were sent to Belgium by Voldemort himself, where they were eaten alive by werewolves. A death sentence to the untrusted,” he said lightly, as if they were discussing tea. If he had not been so drunk and out of his mind at the moment, he wouldn't have been able to say these things as all. If he wasn't... he didn't know what he would have done to the dark Slytherin. He certainly wouldn't have left him breathing. 

“That just proves that you're a freak,” Zabini said. 

“Oh, so true,” the blonde agreed dismissively.

On the other side of things, Draco had no care for the swell and shake of emotion he had caused in the crowd. The war was very fresh on their minds; not even a year had passed yet. Saying the forbidden name so blatantly was almost forbidden to the tongues, for fear that it would bring their reality crashing down. Draco knew it wouldn't for he had had an almost front row seat to the destruction of the snake bastard. With no further care, he turned to McGonagall.

“I do apologize for using my magic without permission, and I will take the consequences,” he said, bowing slightly to her. He meant no harm, and found no quarrels with taking the proper punishment.

“Mr. Malfoy, what happened to you,” the elderly woman asked. For as second, Draco was confused. As if remembering, his obscenely red tongue darted out to lick the steady stream of blood flowing down his chin. He turned his head to the massive crater in the wall. He looked at it for a minute before turning back the professor.

“I seem to have bitten a hole in my tongue,” he said, before sticking it out and showing them that he was being quite literal. There, in his tongue, was a crescent shaped hole. Before any blood could fall, Draco put it back where it belonged. Half of the onlookers shuddered, and the other half swooned. The blonde vaguely wondered what the other half was swooning at; his tongue or the blood.

“Mr. Zabini! Go to my office this instant! You will receive punishment as soon as I have taken Mr. Malfoy to the infirmary. Mr. Malfoy, come with me,” she said sharply before turning on her heel.

“What! Why me!? He's the one who-”

“Trapped you in a bubble,” Draco said as he walked passed. Zabini grit his teeth and raised his wand.

“Don't even think about it,” Harry said, pointing his own wand at the Slytherin. There was a certain darkness to him that said he would have his revenge. He turned away and stocked down the corridor the the headmistresses office.

 

**__**

~{D}~

By the time Draco returned to class, his tongue felt particularly numb. He kept swiping it over his lips to get the feeling back, but Pompfrey had told him not to expect much. He wasn't disobeying her as much as he was trying to be... optimistic. He would like to have the feeling back. As he swiped his tongue over his lips again, he felt the stares of many in the class. Draco was however, trying to pay some attention to the teacher. This year, they had added a new class to the regime. Seeing as how they had had to fix the school up, they didn't see why they couldn't add a few new rooms, and some new branches of study.

Draco, along with many of the other eighth years had decided to take The Theory and Use of Dreams and Memories as an alternative to Divination. Potter and Granger were among some of them. This was also one of the classes the the Slytherin shared with the Gryffindors. Draco was just as apathetic about that as he was everything else.

“Excellent class conduct today, and now, as we come to a close, I have some very important announcements to make,” Professor Somnus said, leaning against his desk and flashing a smile at the class. Professor Somnus was one of the only new heartthrob Professors in the school. He was an metamorphagus, and he usually came to class with hair in colors of black, purple, or fire red. Most of the class had been shocked to see him come in one day with the regular on one day, and then come in with a set of locks that looked like they had been set on fire. Apart from that, he didn't change his facial features, or the fact that he had very long hair tied in a high pony tail. He seemed to take this job with leisure, seeing fit not to get angry at anything.

“We've been talking about the theory of dreams and memories since the start of the year, yeah,” he asked, and everyone obviously agreed with him, some more enthusiastic than others. Draco's brow twitched at the unnecessary act.

“Its safe to assume that we all know what we're talking about here, right? We've finished the book. Studied top to bottom and all that, yeah,” he asked, picking up the book, flipping through the pages and then tossing the book. It flew over his desk and landed almost elegantly on a stool next to a cabinet that stood next to the window. Draco looked at it because of course the bloody handsome professor could do things like that. The class agreed to his questions.

“So would it be safe that we could put our studies to practice?”

Granger was the first to have her hand raised, strands of her long, frizzy hair flying up. Mr. Somnus, unlike other teachers, had no problem calling on her regularly. He liked hearing that any of his students were pursuing their knowledge.

“Yes, Ms. Granger?”

“When you say put our studies to practice... do you mean using actual dreams and memories,” she asked, and everyone started up talking. Draco's eyes slipped closed and he grasped the edge of his desk in a white knuckled grip. His dreams? His memories? Used in study, they would... Well, Draco felt slightly sick at the thought, though that might just have been his need to drink more. The blonde couldn't remember the last time he had had a dream. Not only that, but he loathed to think about his dreams and memories. He was focused on his present and/ or future.

“That's right.”

“Isn't that invading on personal-”

“Ms. Granger,” he said, very lightly, his voice sounding like the chime of a bell, “I would not take such precious things from students without such permission. Only those who volunteer will have themselves... outed, will you say? Does that answer your question?”

“Yes, Professor,” she said, taking her seat back. Professor smiled at her politely.

“Mr. Malfoy, am I boring you,” he asked, before he actually turned to look at him. Draco's eyes flitted open and stared at him with an intensity that burned brightly. The blonde would say he usually reserved those for Potter, but the brief images flashing through his mind and trying to clear his drunken head had struck him. So he stared for a minute.

“No,” he answered curtly. Professor Somnus crossed his arms.

“Well then, are you suffering from your homework so much that you are losing sleep during the night?”

“No, Professor. I was thinking,” Draco replied, because he was sure this onslaught of nonsensical questions would continue if he did not.

“And you had to do so with your eyes closed,” he asked. Behind him, Draco heard Zabini snort. He released his grip on the edge of his desk and clasped it in his lap.

“These thoughts were better done with closed eyes. Like a dream with the eyes open,” he said as way of explanation. Professor Somnus smiled charmingly and dipped his head.

“Very true, Mr. Malfoy. Do not let it happen in my class too often. On to our next order of business... This might not go over well,” he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. There was an edge to his procrastination that Draco didn't like. Even though the sun shown brightly in the room, everything seemed to go dark as the professor's eyes roamed over the classroom.

“It has been decided- not by me personally- that there will be a dueling club initiated in Hogwarts.”

There was a silence that spoke numbers, and then the whispers started like wild fire. Draco could feel the heat of Blaise's stare on the back of his neck. He pointedly ignored it.

“This is not mandatory and will not go against your graduation. However, it would be preferable if the older students could teach the younger ones the elements of a duel,” he said, earning some modestly interested voices in whisper. Draco did not plan on going to any of those dueling instructions nor practices. Even with Zabini still there, he had had enough fighting for his life time. The bell rang.

“Class dismissed.”

Draco packed his things, ready to get to the second floor bathroom, which was still inevitably haunted by Moaning Murtle.

**__**

~{d}~

Harry was glad for break. Professor Somnus wasn't a bad teacher, but there was something about him that left Harry a little... prickly sometimes. He was like an open flirt, but that wasn't true. No one could really tell if he was flirting with his students or if that was how he naturally acted. The way he had attacked Malfoy... He wasn't going to say it was wrong, because the prat hadn't been paying attention at all. There was something about him that Harry saw on his face while he was 'thinking' that were a bit frightening. The only reason he had been caught was because the raven had been looking at him.

After class, Malfoy was the first out, not seeming to be in a hurry, but being so regardless. Harry watched him go and became curious. He was a naturally curious person and flashbacks of sixth year raced through his mind. That year had been the most thoroughly disastrous year of all time. He didn't want a repeat. Not at all.

“'Mione... I'll meet you and Ron in the library. I've got to go to the loo,” he said. Hermione shook her head and made a repulsed face.

“I don't know why you insist on telling me things like this,” she said, before smiling, “Alright.”

She turned away, and Harry did to, trying to catch a lock of white blonde hair. He hurried through the crowd, watching the little first years scurry around. He swore they got smaller every year. He couldn’t remember being that tiny... Harry shook his thoughts off for later. He was not trying to lose the blonde hair he had so come to dislike.

****

________

Evidently, Malfoy had led him to the loo. Harry felt stupid at first before he heard Moaning Murtle say, “Welcome back, Draco.”

She practically purred it. Harry shuddered. Was Malfoy seducing Murtle? The raven peeked into the bathroom. He watched as Malfoy plopped down on the floor and reached into his satchel bag.

“Thanks, Murtle. Still sad,” he asked. The girl sat down and pouted. They seemed to have a good relationship. The raven didn't see why he couldn't leave Malfoy to enjoy his free time. It wasn't his decision what the blonde did with it. As fate would have it, something always happened to keep him interested in Malfoy. The sound of cork being pulled off a vial sounded. Harry froze.

“Well, yes-... Draco, please, not again,” she begged, her voice soft, as if expecting someone to walk in at any moment and catch them. Harry sat stuck for a moment, before he barged in, ready to fight Malfoy if he had to.


	2. Red Hands are a Sign of Guilt Conscience

  
Author's notes: Xeila, or Hello, in American English.  
Next chapter's being put up a little early... I got excited.   
Thanks to Taylor1991, who said, ="Draco just can't catch a break." You don't know HOW true that is."

Just a heads up- There are mentions of Draco in previous relationships, none of which occur during this story  


* * *

_Hermione needs to get her priorities straight...  
J.K.R. owns Harry Potter, and is therefore responsible for such doings._

**WARNING** \- Chapter ratings/ warnings at the VERY top. Be careful of what you read, kay?

* * *

“What are you doing, Malfoy?”

Draco looked up from his inane staring contest with Murtle. The familiarity of the accusing voice made him freeze and swallow the last ounce of pineapple rum in his mouth. Draco didn't like this at all. Not only was it very reminiscent of sixth year, but the realization that he had just had during lunch was making him very antsy. Knowing Potter, he would run off and tell someone about what Draco was doing. The blonde's hand clenched around his bottle.

“Come to join us, Harry,” Murtle said, fluttering her eyes. This snapped the blonde out of his daze, he could see that Potter had frozen too. He probably thought Draco was doing something else. The blonde turned his body to the raven, bottle of pineapple rum still in his hand. To relax himself further, he took another swig and swallowed.

“What does it look like I'm doing,” Malfoy asked, sans his normally haughty attitude. Harry stood in shock, not knowing whether to call him on it or what. Even if he had been prepared to bust the blonde for doing something wrong, he hadn't expected this. The rumors circulating the school about Malfoy being anorexic evaporated out of his mind. Was the blonde coming into the bathroom every break he got to drink? Harry didn't think so, because he didn't seem drunk at all when he saw him. He could just actually be using the bathroom...

When these things hit Harry, he realized that he had been acting like a rumoring hypocrite. He had been suspecting something of Malfoy that hadn't been true. This wasn't really any better, but it wasn't what he had expected. 

“You're... drinking,” the raven said, slowly and perplexedly. Malfoy snorted from the floor.

“Come to join us,” Murtle asked once more. Harry finally had the sense enough to take his eyes off Malfoy. He turned to her and shook his head.

“Hello, Murtle.”

“I don't think Draco would mind sharing with you Harry,” she said sweetly, batting her eyelashes behind her glasses and floating over to him. Malfoy watched her pointedly, eyes intense as she floated behind Harry and put her hands over his shoulders. They became cold at once, and he shivered. The raven never had liked the cold, and though winter wasn't his least favorite season, he did think it could do without so much snow.

“Do you want some, Potter,” the blonde asked, holding up the bottle clearly so that Harry could see that it was rum. His petite eyebrow was raised, and amusement shadowed his face along with an invitation. Perplexed beyond natural reason, Harry shook his head once more.

“No... I think I'm just going to,” he mumbled as he backed away toward the door. Malfoy must have been very loose under the influence of the alcohol, because he shrugged. Harry had not ever seen him do that before, and had supposed it was beneath aristocratic purebloods like himself.

“Go..? Alright then. Later, Potter,” Malfoy said before taking another drink. Harry turned quickly and left, hurrying to get to the library. His mind flurried down the corridor. What a strange sight. The interaction had been even stranger. Usually the two didn't have such casual conversation even if the conversation wasn't over ordinary circumstances. Harry shook his head as he entered the library, trying not to be distracted by the recent events.

**__**

~{d}*{d}~

When Draco awoke the next morning, he thoroughly felt like shite. A constant ringing went through his ears, and he struggled to see, even though no light had come to beat the shite out of him yet. He couldn't remember who he was, where he was, or any of his memories for a few minutes. On mornings like these, when Draco went to bed too early without a drink, he woke in fear. It was almost the most paralyzing fear he had ever felt in his life. Almost. He would lie there and shake as if he had been thoroughly drowned in cold water before someone pulled him out to fend for himself in the coldest winter. A pain would prickle in his throat and make it ache. His eyes hurt in a strange, unpredictable, unpleasant way.

And then he would get up. He would get up and he would look and see if Blaise was still sleeping. Then he would go out of the room without another word, almost floating, as if he were a ghost. His footsteps were noiseless, and so quick the he might have been running. Draco didn't really run anymore. His alcoholism prevented him from it, really. Running was for people with fear. It was for people with needs, for people with care, for people who had dreams. Draco had a dream, but he knew that running wouldn't help him get there faster then when he expected to get there.

Draco started his routine again, with one change. This time, he didn't let it go.

…

Harry groaned as he got up. Last night, he had decided to take a walk. He wasn't tired when it was lights out. All day, his head had been wrapped around Malfoy. He had been drinking... He was drunk. And he had offered some to Harry. The raven couldn't tell whether he should have been appalled, or want to get Malfoy in trouble, or if he should be afraid. Yes, he had thought at some point that he should be worried and afraid for the Slytherin. He finished off more than half the bottle of Rum, and he hadn't looked drunk, but Harry couldn't know. It had raised questions in his mind. 

How long had Malfoy been drinking? Had he drank the whole bottle by himself? Would the Slytherin hurt other people? Would he hurt himself? When Harry had seen the other student after their break, he looked perfectly fine and not drunk. Harry would have said it was a trick, but he couldn't get the feeling of Murtle's cold, ghost hands off his shoulders. Not only was he now suffering from thoughts of the Slytherin, but he was also plagued with the strange events of his walk last night. 

“Harry, mate? Are you alright,” Ron said, looking at him strangely as he pulled his shoes on. Harry then realized he was putting his pants on backwards, and he shook himself out of it.

“Yeah, fine. I'm just thinking,” he said, before getting dressed once more. But how he wished he wasn't. It felt like he had been reverted back to sixth year. His mind was constantly on Malfoy and his intentions. However, now, there was some worry thrown in for the bastard. Then a thought hit Harry that made him rethink everything.

What if Malfoy had only done it that once?

It cleared away all his other thoughts like a rush of warm, gusty wind. With a snort and a shake of his head, Harry pulled on his shoes. What was he worried about? Malfoy could take care of himself. Even if he couldn't it wasn't the raven's job to. The Gryffindor would be the last person on this Earth to take care of Malfoy in any way possible. With the familiarity of dislike back in his mind so resolutely, Harry felt at ease again.

_****_

~{d}*{d}~

In fact, Harry had felt so at east with it that he had gone through the day without worrying about Malfoy. He didn't look at his table, or talk about him. He even managed to ignore him in Potions, even though he worked at the table directly in front of him. His life seemed to brighten considerably during that day, even though there was something nagging at him. There was a question that was at the surface of the back of his mind, but he drowned it in cold water. He knew that the question was about Malfoy, but he wasn't worried about Malfoy, so he did his best to ignore it.

However, when he tried to go to sleep that night, his couldn't. The question was stinging behind his eyes, but he refused to think about it, or try to answer it. He wasn't concerned about it, dammit. Cursing, Harry sat up in his bed, grabbed his invisibility cloak and his Marauder's map, and left the room for a stroll. This was ridiculous. He had had such a good day, and now it was all going to crap because he couldn't get his mind off of Malfoy. 

The blonde always seemed to find a way to get under his skin, even if it was indirectly. As Harry neared the end of a corridor, he felt deja vu come of him. His thoughts had become consumed with the blonde like he had in sixth year, and he sighed tiredly. Harry took a seat against the wall in the shadows. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and ran a hand through his hair. Why did he keep thinking about it? He was sure Malfoy wasn't doing anything harmful to anyone.

Except he is. He's killing himself.

Harry shook that thought out of his head. Malfoy had only done it that once. But even as he tried to convince himself of this, he knew that that probably wasn't true. Malfoy had to have drunken the other half of the pineapple Rum in the bottle. He didn't exactly look like he had friends, and he was sure Murtle wasn't drinking any. Not only that, but as sure as Harry was that Malfoy had consumed the other half of the bottle, he was also sure that he had not stumbled around drunkenly the entire day. The blonde had experience. It made Harry's stomach plummet, and he opened his parchment to see where the blonde was.

He checked the Slytherin dorms, only to find them empty. Eyes widening, Harry laid the paper on the floor and spread it out. Trying to find the one name that was causing him distress right at that moment. He finally found the blonde in the astronomy tower. His dot moved into and out of one spot continuously, as if he was having a mad conversation and pacing periodically.

Harry closed the map and then turned to dart to the tower. He hoped that the blonde was still alive. Even if he didn't like the slimy git, he wasn't about to let him die. He raced through the doors of the tower silently and froze. A wave of sound hit him, and he turned and closed the door behind him, afraid that someone would come by after hearing the noise. Harry wondered why had hadn't heard the noise before crossed through the door as he slowly climbed to the top of the steps. He was glad he remembered his invisibility cloak, because he would have felt very incriminating for intruding on Malfoy like this. He did feel that way.

He would have also been caught. Malfoy was looking right at the staircase, though Harry couldn't know if he could actually see through everything. The sights he was getting were very breath stealing to say the least. Music that he had never hear before played loudly from no where, and bright strobe lights flashed around the room. He was sure that the music was not of magical origin, though he had never really heard anything like it. There were no vocals, but constant sound, Everything else seemed very dark because the half crescent moon wasn't illuminating everything. 

Harry was stunned. Different bottles of alcohol lined the floor, confirming the fact that Malfoy had a problem. The raven stared, stunned at all of the bottles for a few minutes, before he turned to Malfoy. That was a mistake. Malfoy's lips were red and slightly parted, and his eyes glistened in the lights. His chest heaved and Harry realized with terror that had no shirt on. His muscles moved and contracted as he did. His eyes were half lidded as he moved his body to the music. His moves were not sensual or implicit in anyway, yet his body made them that way.

Harry's thoughts were blown away by the sight of the blonde. His body heated up, and his chest tightened. What was this? Harry tried to think of the sight of Malfoy in his mind, but he couldn't. Everything failed him, and he slid down the wall closest to the steps, watching. He swallowed. Harry had never seen anything quite as... beautiful as this. Yes, that was the right word. It left him breathless, and his need to watch more steadily grew.

The blonde seemed to glow in the faux lighting, and his body's sinewy ways made him look like a predator. Then the song abruptly changed. So did Malfoy's dancing style. Harry almost choked in his spit. Now the blonde really was dancing sexually. His hips hit the rhythm as best they could and better. His back curved and curled, poking his arse out. His hair shifted as he wrapped his arms around himself, and touched as if it was someone else. Harry lost his breath to it.

He came back to the astronomy tower every night, just as frequently as Malfoy did. Sometimes when he was there, he felt as though the blonde was looking through his cloak straight at him. He didn't mind though a small niggling of guilt would touch him. Malfoy was his to watch, and he wasn't going to stop even if the blonde wanted him to.

**__**

~{D}~

It was hard to look in Malfoy’s direction when he walked into class as time passed. It seemed strange to see him now, though he had a completely different face at night. Harry had come to admit that he found the ‘Dark Malfoy’, as he deemed him, very fascinating and nothing less than beautiful. He was lithe and silent with the night, and even though Harry had found him drunk on every occasion, he didn’t dare to think it was important. Harry now assumed that Malfoy was only using his alcohol abusing ways to release ‘Dark Malfoy.’  
   
He hadn’t deluded himself enough to call what Malfoy was doing anything but alcohol abusing. He just wouldn’t say anything. It was hard, though, to sit in class and keep silent about it, when Malfoy was right there, looking particularly sane and sober. It had forced Harry to realize that yes; Malfoy had been doing this for a long time. He must have thought of a way the really dangerous effects of it, because he didn’t seem to be harmed in any way either. In Harry’s mind, he knew that the blonde drinking so much was not only so he could release the ‘Dark Malfoy.’ He vaguely wondered why he did something so vulgar to himself before class began and Professor Somnus called attention.  
   
“Happy Friday, everybody,” he repeated, as he did every Friday class he had. The class happily chirped the greeting back, as he expected them to. Draco just blinked slowly, getting used to the Grey Goose he had just ingested last passing. He never really was one for greetings, especially to people he didn’t care for and wasn’t related to.  
   
“As promised, today we will be using real memories…”  
   
Draco tuned him out, his mind fluttering out the window like a butterfly. It was cold now, since they had just started second term, but he was sure that spring would be upon them soon. Draco wasn’t a fan of a season, either way, but it was much more preferable to be outside in warmer weather. He clicked his fingers on the desk and tuned back into the professor’s ramblings. Draco was practically counting the seconds it would be until he left Hogwarts behind. The place was filled with disastrous memories and ghosts of a different kind that Draco would not like to have remembered. He didn’t really, because all of the alcohol in his system blanked his mind out, and help him sleep through the meager hours he could get at night.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Professor Somnus called, and Draco spared himself embarrassment by answering the first time. Draco didn’t zone out so much that he couldn’t respond to the professor. He preferred not to be called out, but it seemed that today he was to be. Maybe the red haired man was trying to guilt him about his lack of attention. It was too bad that guilt wasn’t one of the few emotions the blonde still felt.  
   
“Perhaps you would care to share the memory what you did last night with the rest of the class,” Professor Somnus asked. Draco’s fingers twitched underneath his desk. The man had blatantly called out his assumption that everyone was in bed last night, as they should have been. Well, it sucked that Draco had not been, and had twitched slightly because he feared that Potter would call him out on it. He had seen Potter last night, though only in a glimpse, before trying as hard as he possibly could to disappear. Draco had done the extreme, though not unenjoyably. He could even say it was a very close hint of the ecstasy had known by doing dangerous things.  
   
The eyes of the professor, and everyone else who was looking pointedly at him, made his resolve falter. He unwillingly stood up and stepped down to stand in front of Professor Somnus. He lifted his wand and pointed it at the blonde’s forehead. Now, alcohol did a great many things for Draco. However, taking away his trepidation and war skills were not some of them. As soon as he saw the wand unsheathed by the red head, his whole back tensed. He was already standing in a position that would allow him to severely hurt the man, see he fit to try and magically scar Draco more than he already was.  
   
“Don’t worry,” Professor Somnus said, because Draco knew it looked like he was slightly frightened, “This won’t hurt.”  
   
Draco wanted to snort and roll his eyes, but he stayed still. He knew it wouldn’t hurt. He would have the man in the hospital wing before he let him hurt himself. He felt the memory being pulled from him with a tickle, and a little nausea. He had read the book, and knew this would happen because he didn’t particularly want this memory to be taken from him. Professor Somnus thanked him and he returned to his seat. The man began explaining what a memory looked like, I comparison to dreams, which took solid and very different forms, depending on what kind of dreams they were. Draco’s mind fluttered out to the snow and landed, batting it’s wings icily before returning to him.  
   
“Now, to see what Mr. Malfoy was doing yesterday,” he said, and Draco twitched. Harry noticed that Malfoy was on edge since his name had been called. He knew what Malfoy looked like relaxed, and he knew this wasn’t it. His attention to the blonde had become keener since he had started watching him in the Astronomy Tower. It was very sharp now, because he hadn’t been there last night at all, though something else almost equally befuddling had happened to Harry. Professor Somnus began to use his wand like an orchestral baton, and the windows dimmed, and a screen of mist rolled down from the ceiling. Harry was half paying attention to the tasks in front of him. He had been discreet so far about watching Malfoy; enough so that Hermione didn’t pester him about it.  
   
There was just something about this that was catching him though. The memory started.  
   
 **~**

Draco walked down the corridor, hand clicking against the wall. He had been planning to go the Astronomy Tower… at a later time. Right now, he was enjoying the darkness of the corridor. There was a whisper to the floor as his bare feet skimmed the stone. He had been walking around like this for hours. After curfew was called, he pulled his muggle clothes on- a black jumper that fit him snuggly, and a dark pair of jeans that he liked because they kept him particularly warm in the winter. Then he would leave his house, eyes closed and feet ready to wander. Draco let a foot tap the floor once, very absently, before the corridor fell into silence once more.

As he neared the corner, Draco abruptly stopped. He stood so still, he looked to have been hit with a curse and turned to stone. Someone else was in the other corridor. The blonde slid so gracefully into position that one might not have cared to think twice that he was in a position to fight or run if the need be. He back rested against the wall, and his dark clothes almost blended in, making him indiscernible to anyone who wasn’t looking. The only thing that could be seen was his grey eyes, which slowly melted into a storm and left him a shadow.  
   
There was the sound of feet padding once or twice before the sound disappeared completely.  
   
“Shite,” Draco whispered, turned on his heel, and sprinted away. His feet carried him soundlessly down the corridor. Behind him, he could hear the wind crackle behind him in such a way that he knew he was being chased. The chaser was just as silent as he, making no sound whatsoever with their feet. Draco lowered his upper body, running almost uncomfortably low as he came to a turn. His body sped up, and then his hand hit the floor, helping him make a sharp turn into another corridor. His mind screamed out under the stress of his memories that were suppressed by the alcohol in his veins. He hoped it didn’t run out because of the heightened adrenaline. Adrenaline did so love to burn him.

Draco jumped and weaved, always trying to stay a corridor ahead of the chaser. As he decided where to end this chase, he decided to find out who his chaser was.  
   
“Bloody fucking hell,” he groaned as he saw Potter from round the corner. He spun around and darted away much faster. He stuck close to the walls and shadows, hoping that the raven didn't figure out that it was him. There was a wrenching sensation that told him that he shouldn't let Potter know it was him. There was something inside of him that was deathly afraid of being caught tonight. He just didn't want to let himself think about why.

His body instinctively took him to the astronomy tower. He knew every possible way to get there from every corridor in the castle. As soon as he was in the door, he spun round and flicked his wand at it. It swung shut, and then two soft clicks sounded. He turned around frantically, eyes roaming over the stone staircase that he had to get up in the next twenty seconds.

“Great luck,” he muttered, before plopping onto the floor and taking a racing position. He was as ready as he possibly could be to race up the stairs in the next ten seconds. He did. Draco launched himself off of the floor, and watched in breathlessness as the steps flashed by him. Then he falling to his knees against the cold stones of the floor. Draco heard the door below slam and jerk with the force of someone trying to open it.

After a minute, Draco chuckled breathlessly. He rolled over on his back, and looked up. His eyes caught the full moon, shining a bright gray and winking back at all of the stars. The blonde knew that Potter would be up in a minute or two and he ignored the great feeling of impending doom that was coming up on him. There was something more to this dread, he knew. Potter had caught him when he had been drinking, and if he knew Draco was out and about after curfew, he would flip a shit. The blonde had no intention of being discovered in his drinking- not when he was so close to his dream.

As he rolled over, Draco could feel the hate rising up in him. It was barely leashed by the alcohol that was still in his veins. Why? Potter always seemed to find away to take important things from him. He always found a way to make Draco so miserable on the inside when no one else could even look in his direction. He hated it. The feeling of the Realization returned once more. It was somewhere between the feeling of apparation and being breathed on by a dragon. It burned and pulled his insides now, and his stomach seized.

He hated it. So much. He had felt it when Potter had come into the bathroom, but had tried to deny it so hard. Potter would be the one. He would end this for Draco. He hated it. The blonde's eyes closed in his anger, which hadn't flared up in a long time. The blonde needed freedom. He needed freedom right that second, and the only way he was going to get it was if he tested out his newest project. Standing up, Draco dragged his hand into his front right pocket, then out. A greenish blue cube glimmered in the moon's light against his pale skin. 

There was a click at the door and he turned away from it. Draco had never used this in the entire time he had had it. He didn't even know it would work. He had to hope; to dream. It was the only thing he had left. 

He could hear someone shuffle up the steps. 

Without a moment's hesitation, Draco rapidly crossed the distance between where he stood and the ledge of the Astronomy tower and dived over it.

**~**

The class sat in silence as the memory abruptly cut off. While some where staring at the screen in shock, most had their eyes on Malfoy. He sat there in his pale, always evident confidence. Harry was still staring into the front of the class, but his eyes were unfocused. He felt very cold. He had ignored it. He had ignored it so fruitfully that he had thought it would go away. But the question was dangling in the air. It mocked him, making him feel like an inadequate human being. Harry couldn't ignore the question anymore.

Why had Malfoy started drinking in the first place?

It made his blood run cold. He knew, but tried to pretend to be ignorant of the blonde's daily drinking. It caused no one harm, and it made the blonde even more easy to deal with, really. Now, he was forced to bring it to the forefront of his mind. The blonde was killing himself slowly. If he had been drinking this heavily since the war, Harry was sure that his body looked like a train wreck on the inside. What made it worse was that Malfoy was apathetic about everything. He had jumped off the goddamned astronomy tower, and though Harry hadn't known what he was thinking, there seemed to be no hesitation there. True, Malfoy was alive right now, but what if what he used hadn't worked? 

Harry didn't think the blonde cared. And that scared him. He knew that he had to help Malfoy, because he was the only one who knew and cared- however slightly- about the blonde's safety. The bell chimed, as if to seal his fate. No one moved.

“Class dismissed,” Professor Somnus said, and everyone practically ran out of the door, chatter fluttering like millions of butterflies. Harry & Hermione were the only ones left, after Malfoy finally finished packing up.

“Are you alright, Harry,” Hermione asked, brows furrowed in question. Harry was pulled from his distress for a few minutes to placate her.

“Yeah. I just have to talk to the professor.”

She gave him one of her calculating looks before nodding and turning and walking away. He knew he could find her in the common room when he was done. He had promised her he would go to the library and finish his paper for Herbology today. Steeling his resolve, Harry stepped from behind the desk and said, “Professor, may I have a minute?”

**__**

~{d}~

Draco had never felt so... Well, he didn't think he was exactly happy, but he was sure about being sure. He felt confident and relaxed, which he hadn't been in a long time. He strolled down the corridor which was teeming with students going to the events they usually went to after classes finished. The blonde flicked the Disillusion'ed vial in his and and whistled. As it's ruby red contents gleamed in the light and he wondered how he could ever do something so atrocious. His father would kill him if he knew he had ever whistled. It made his inside warm and tighten.

As Harry walked with McGonagall, he didn't know exactly why he was so worried about seeing Malfoy. True, he had snitched, but it was only for the sake of keeping the blonde alive. The raven had had enough of people dying. He breezed down the hallway, stomach jumping like frogs, without understanding why. He felt as if he was meeting an idol in real life; as if he was about to approach the 'Dark Malfoy' head on. As they rounded a corner, Harry caught sight of white blonde hair. He felt as though he was the one who was about to be confronted.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall called to him. The blonde stopped. Harry watched with dread as he flicked a vial containing red liquid into the air and caught it again... 

Flick- and again.

Flick- and _again..._

“Yes, Professor?”

Malfoy was looking calmly at her, never ceasing his constant flick of the vial. Harry watched him repeat it over and over. He resisted the urge to yell at the blonde and make him stop. 

“Please come with me,” she said, flicking her hand at him briefly. Malfoy did not move, except for the constant flick of the vial in his hands. People were stopping to watch, seeming to vaguely talk about something in their books. Harry knew they weren't from experience.

“Have I done something wrong? If Potter was injured, it wasn't me,” he defended automatically. Professor McGonagall was trying not to roll her eyes at him. Harry hoped that he wouldn't try to press any further.

“No, Mr. Malfoy. I was hoping we could discuss a problem of yours,” she supplied evenly, watching him. As Potter gulped, Draco flicked the vial up again. It hit him, and his eyes widened, and his breathing stopped. It felt as if the world had stopped, but he was suddenly brought back by a loud crash on the floor. Draco looked down, paled with dread as the broken vial turned back into it's original bottle of Jack Daniel's, and the amber liquid flowed out across the corridor.

The sound of his life shattering still echoed in his ears.


	3. How Harry Thinks Things Are Resolves

  
Author's notes: Draco/otherMale/otherFem are past relationships.  


* * *

**_Author's Warning:_** I ought to have mentioned that I kept some people alive as a change of circumstances. Because different things happened to Draco during the war, some people lived.

  
**_Disclaimer:_**   
It's not Wingardium Leviosa, its Wingardium Leviosa.  
I didn't know that, and therefore, do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

Draco sat in the office chair with a sigh. As unprepared as he was for this, he was also very prepared for it.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter here has brought it to my attention that you have been drinking," Professor McGonagall said, eying him shrewdly. There were about a million things he wanted to say. There were about a million things he was thinking. He knew that not one of them would save him from his currents situation.

"Well, I can't deny it, can I? Not when I just broke a bottle right in front of you," he snorted. Minerva looked sharply over her glasses at him. Draco pointedly ignored the look, instead watching the picture of Albus Dumbledore looking into the conversation with a great interest. Draco snorted again. The man knew nothing of his side of the war. Draco resented him for dying at the most inopportune moment.

"School rules prohibit the consumption of alcohol, as you should know."

"I do know. 'S why I was never caught doing it," he said, crossing his legs and laying his head in his hand. The professor glared menacingly over her glasses and leaned forward in her chair.

"Mr. Potter, please tell me your... concerns," she addressed the brunette without looking at him. Draco could feel the the tension in his body and he wasn't sitting remotely close to him. It irked him slightly, because it wasn't as if the Gryffindor was in trouble, and what he was about to say was probably going to make it worse. Draco guessed the alcohol was wearing off.

"Malfoy's been drinking a lot," he said rigidly, "Almost everyday..."

"Don't make accusations you can't back up, Potter," Draco snorted. McGonagall's hard glare bore through him.

"Well, prove him wrong then," she said, and Draco felt his insides sear at her. Of course, everything that the Golden Boy said had to be taken strongly. He had saved the world, of course. But wasn't that a bit unfair, especially since he had been destined to do it? Had it been another child, then Potter's sudden accusations wouldn't mean a thing.

"I didn't deny it," he said coldly, "Its true."

Professor McGonagall's eyes studied him with a hard face. Of course he was being disrespectful to her, and they all knew it. This wasn't as hard for either of them as it was for him. He was purging himself of the secret he had been keeping. No, he didn't deny it while he was blank, but when the drugs completely left him, he wouldn't be open to very much at all. Draco knew that much. He supposed that they would give him the last bit of apathetic strength he had to get through this conversation with the whole truth. He was out now, he might as well give into whatever suffering he had to go through this time.

"Malfoy... How long have you been drinking," she asked him softly, and he became irked, confused, and hollow all at once. He pressed his lips together irritably. He wasn't so mad that she was treating him this way, but that he felt he might need it after he was clean. Draco was not going to get that comfort.

"When we were farther along into fifth year."

"And you've been drinking every day since then," McGonagall asked, horror, empathy, and sadness laced into the notes of her voice. It made his insides grow cold. That year, he had buried himself in the 'Inquisitorial Squad' to hide himself away. Things weren't fine, and he had had things worse than Potter did, though it didn't seem like it by the end of the year.

"I've built up a tolerance, yeah," he said nonchalantly, though the thoughts that had been slowly become less alcohol addled were freaking out. His head was screaming, preparing for what was to come. He knew he would have to do this some time or the other, but he was hoping it would have been later. Instead, he would have to get himself together right that second, controlling his addiction and his emotions and his thoughts. It was going to be trying, and he knew it was. Especially when now that he was going to have to realize that he was in this place alone, with everyone being a hostile. He had realized, even as soon as he had started his annual scholarly ingestion of alcohol. Now, he was to _acknowledge_ it.

McGonagall stood abruptly and cast a patronus, which turned out to be an bald eagle. Draco watched with a bit of interest. She gestured for him to stand up as she slid around her desk fluidly.

"Mr. Malfoy and Potter, come with me," she said, moving quickly enough to make the two young men jog to catch up with her. Their feet at the steps and leaped past the leaping gargoyle, finally falling into a fast tread behind the Headmistress. Draco didn't deny himself in thinking that they were probably going down to the infirmary.

He was right as they swung into Madame Pomfrey's domain with a grandiose air of importance. The plump woman bustled right up to them. Without asking questions, she strode closely up to Malfoy. Harry watched as he took a very wide step back from her. It was then that he realized that the blonde held himself very stiffly; his muscles and bones brittle. He looked ready to spring out of his shell at any moment, kicking and fighting and maiming if he had to. Harry shivered; the war had affected everyone, and it was more visible in some than others.

"Stop fussing, you," she said, grabbing his arm and yanking. As strong as her grip was, Malfoy stayed stuck firmly in place. He yanked his arm from her grasp  _hard_  and stared at her like a cold stone statue. The woman devoutly ignored him and proceeded to cast a number of spells Harry couldn't quite catch. She moved around him with little flashes of light and wisps of smoke coming out of the end of her wand. Malfoy watched her wand with the eyes of a hawk, and Harry could almost swear his irises rolled out of sight once or twice. After a while, the stout woman stopped, worry lines across her face and arms crossed.

"Well," McGonagall asked. Madame Pomfrey spared her a passing glance.

"Mr. Malfoy... How often do you drink," she asked, scrutinizing him carefully as if his answer would tell the fate of the world. The blonde took his eyes from her wand and met with hers. He scowled deeply at her; the first time Harry had seen anything remotely close to emotion cross his features. His jaw tensed and he licked his the corner of his lip briefly.

"Everyday, three times a day."

Harry held in his bodily reaction, though the shock of seeing him dance with all of those bottles at his feet really hit him then. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Professor McGonagall tense from where she stood next to him.

"For how long?"

"I've been working up a tolerance since the end of fifth year," he said, still watching her in from his steely stance. It wasn't any better hearing it the second time. It was strange; thinking of Malfoy in this new light. There was something wrong with him now. It was not at all like his home being invaded by Voldemort, or his own life being threatened by something hidden. Something was tangibly wrong with the blonde, something Harry was witnessing this time. He was up close and bringing a stop to it. The raven was slightly mystified. He was saving the blonde's life this time, instead of ruining it a bit more. He shivered as the memory passed through him.

“A healer's work is never done,” she tutted. She let her gaze roam over Malfoy. Harry had felt that gaze before. He pondered the gaze of a healer; it could be its own magic sometimes. She had saved many a life with her looks, including Harry's own. He supposed he owed her more than anyone.

“He needs a detox, and that will take a minimum of two weeks. If Mr. Malfoy cooperates, that is,” she said, addressing Professor McGonagall until the very last moment.

“You will be compliant, Malfoy,” McGonagall said, no room for objection. The blonde's wet concrete stare turned to her, the only other movement that indicated his life was the clenching of his jaw. He didn't reply.

“I will leave you to continue your work, Madame. I need a word with you, Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall said, sweeping away after a short incline of her head towards the healer. Harry turned and followed her out, not glancing back at Malfoy. His work was done, now the blonde wasn't shoving toxic waste down his throat. 

Once out of earshot, McGonagall, began speaking, though she didn't slow her stride. With no distractions, Harry kept up with her easily.

“This is quite the shock, as it must have been when you first heard it,” McGonagall said. Harry nodded.

“Why did you believe me, if you don't mind me asking, Professor,” the dark haired male asked. Something dark crossed the elderly woman's face, and her expression compressed into something harder.

“Mr. Potter... I think it is best to say that you're hunches have been right on more than one occasion. Let us be glad for your affinity for saving people,” the woman said. Harry grew all the more solemn at the thought of Dumbledore's death, though Malfoy hadn't been the one to carry it out. That had been a very curious night indeed, and one the was high up there with his various memories of the blonde. 

“Now, I have a favor to ask that I will allow you a night's rest to consider,” she said, watching him carefully. Thinking about all that had currently gone on, Harry didn't disbelieve that it would have something to do with Malfoy. A bit of dread crept through him; an automatic reaction to anything that had to do with Malfoy. However, he supposed that the things that had happened only so many months ago needed to be addressed some time.

“Mr. Malfoy is in need of detoxification, and in light of that supervision.”

“Excuse me, professor... but do you mean that I'll have to stay with Malfoy,” he asked, horrified at the idea of being shut in with the blonde. Would he have to bring him back to the Gryffindor house? Or worse- he would have to stay in Slytherin. Harry was not very popular in that house, or with anyone who had returned to school this year. Some sense told him the McGonagall wouldn't be so cruel to set him up for disaster, even if the circumstances were pressing as it was.

“Yes, Mr. Potter. I know about your past with Malfoy, but I would not ask you to do this if it could be any other way,” she replied.

“Why don't you ask the professors to do it,” he replied, unenthusiastic to the idea of babysitting Malfoy. McGonagall sighed.

“It's a daunting task to be taking care of Malfoy, I understand. However, it would be much more of a problem if I asked any of the other professors to do so. Some, I don't trust with the proper care of a student, let alone themselves,” she said, and Harry got the distinct impression she was talking about Professor Slughorn. True, his appearance was not very easy on the eyes at all, and Harry would not put it past the man to ask Malfoy what it was like having Voldemort in his home.

_Although... Sometimes I'd like to know,_ Harry thought, because as weeks passed since the war, he had seen Malfoy. He had watched the blonde, snark lost, and things had transpired between them. Things that had changed Harry's- and probably the whole wizarding world's- fate. It was a sobering thought- no pun intended. If Harry thought about it, he owed Malfoy. Not only that, but he wanted to see the blonde's care through until the end, and maybe get some clues about who he was. He shrugged one shoulder and rubbed a hand through his locks; a precursor to acquiescence. He nodded, and McGonagall sighed in relief.

“Thank you. I know this is going to be hard for you. Return to my office this evening. You will be escorted, along with Mr. Malfoy, to your private quarters later this evening.”

“Should I pack my things?”

“No,” she replied, rubbing the back of her hand absently, “I will have them taken for you. Thank you again, Potter.”

Before she could turn away, Harry said, “Professor, could I ask a favor?”

The woman stopped short, folding her hands and watching him very carefully. He said, “Can you take Malfoy's wand while we're there?”

**_~{H}~_ **

Harry had been out of it since he had returned to the common room. He knew he would be, and was glad that Hermione and Ron were in the library. The only reason the red head had decided to accompany her was because of the unspoken promise that they would be doing something other than studying there. Harry had followed them hazily into the library once, not paying much attention to either of them or anything else. It had been a mistake he had not wanted to repeat, and didn't.

If they had been here with him now, or even when Minerva had called him out, it would have been terrible. Harry had grown tired of answering all of their questions and having their eyes upon him. They were his friends, true, but they were caught up in each other, and couldn't really notice him. There was Ginny, of course, but there was also the awkward feeling Harry got when she was near him. She would ask him about when they would get back together, or if they should go down to Hogsmead together or something.

It was the very awkward feeling someone got when they had to tell someone bad news. The raven had had his fair share of secrets, which he had had to tell others, and he knew the uncomfortable feeling it gave him. This was ten times worse. He had no harsh feelings towards Ginny, but he didn't feel like he wanted to date her anymore. It would come across wrong if he told her that, and even worse if her and Ron's tempers got to the levels that he knew they would. He just didn't want to date anyone. As of late, he didn't want to be with anyone, not even his friends.

Even though the quiet ate at him and made him feel like a scared child, he relished it. He sat in it, drank it in, and let it mess with his body so that the jittery feeling in his stomach stayed. The war had changed Harry, and made him ready to jump out of his own skin as soon as he could. It had also made him think that he needed to think. After being a scapegoat for all of the world's hope and its misery, did he really want to be an Auror? Did he even want to stay apart of the magical world?

As much of a fantastic revelation being a wizard had been, sometimes the novelty wore off, and he realized that he had been pulled into a world where people could and did die. It was like an alternate universe, and the children who screamed that there were monsters under their bed were right.

Harry sighed and pulled out his drawing pad. Hermione had given it to him in hopes that he would get all his frustrations out and maybe return to them as he used to be. At first, he had just scribbled nonsense in it. Then Hermione's plan back fired. Harry sunk into the notebook and silence. He'd draw for hours on end, copying pictures from the monster books in the library, until his hand was practiced enough to make monsters of his own. They would warp themselves and end up in his dreams, killing his friends, torturing him, eating his flesh...

Harry had turned to other things, too. He had drawn his friends again and again, in style after style until he came up with something he liked. He would think of ligaments and muscles and veins and draw those too. He worked on his penmanship in this very book, because that counted as an art. He flourished through his own eyes, and didn't let anyone else see because almost everything in it was disturbing. And as quickly as he progressed with his skill, he did the same with his seclusion.

He jumped a mile when Hermione tapped him on the shoulder. Her facial expression morphed into one of worry. Harry sighed.

“We've been calling you for five minutes, Harry,” she said, and he looked up to see Ron siting in a chair a chair across from him, looking cautious.

“Is something wrong, mate?”

“No... I'm okay,” he said after he surmised he couldn't fall into any better health than he was currently in. He watched Hermione and Ron share a look, and felt a cold sort of rejection in his stomach. He didn't want that, but they used to be much closer friends, and nothing went untold. Now they were sending meaningful looks and about to attack him over something. 

“You've been staring at your notebook,” Hermione said softly, and he snapped it shut. Even his friends had yet to see what was inside. Their friendship ran deep, but still, they didn't know how to be there for him when Sirius died. They didn't understand why he protected Snape's name, and they hadn't known what to say when he'd hurt Malfoy. Sometimes it felt like he couldn't trust them with himself. 

As he looked between them both, he couldn’t remember what he drew, only that it had been the last page in his book.

“I've just realized I need another drawing book,” he said, shrugging, “I'll go out to Hogsmead and see if I can get another one from the library.”

Hermione looked worried at the declaration, but didn't say anything. Instead, Ron said, “Look, Harry... I know you need to get your feelings out and everything, but don't you think...”

Harry knew he wouldn't be able to finish that sentence. Of course drawing was taking up all his time. He needed purpose, and maybe release, and if the book didn't give him both of those things, then Harry had never been greedy. Before the raven could get out the cold response he had lined up, Hermione swooped in.

“Have either of you finished your homework? I've gotten everything done except for Dreams and Memories,” she said, enthusiastically trying to push the conversation in another direction. Ron grunted.

“Why do you have to be so bloody scholarly all the time, 'Mione,” he asked, though from the tone of his voice, it didn't bother him one bit. Harry didn't have to be looking to know that Hermione was blushing. He answered on top of that to stunt the start of their playful banter.

“I finished most of it,” he said, eyes going over his drawing book. He was itching to get back to it, and finish his last drawing before he lost his thread of thought. 

“When are you going to finish the rest,” Hermione asked, and Harry tensed, realizing that he would be spending the next _two weeks_ – maybe more – with Draco Malfoy. He had forgotten to tell them, though now he could answer her question and get it out all at once.

“Later on tonight... when I'm with Malfoy,” he said slowly, though it was anything but careful. Silence fell, and he could hear the heat passing up into Ron's face. Hermione might as well be having her own blood drained.

“H-Harry... Why are you going to be with Malfoy,” Hermione asked before Ron could explode all his antagonistic thoughts. Briefly, Harry wondered what would happen if he and the blonde became friends. It wasn't probable, but it was possible.

“Because he needs supervision, and Headmistress McGonagall said that I was the only one she trusted. Malfoy's got a condition, so it's going to be me watching him for the next two weeks,” he said, a little distressed at the thought but resilient nonetheless. 

“Two weeks,” Ron squeaked.

“How come Malfoy can't stay in the hospital wing,” Hermione asked immediately. Harry briefly looked up at her. She was still pale.

“Because Madame Pompfrey can't take care of him all day and night, and it's not as if he's actually disabled,” he said, flicking his hand uselessly. Ron's brows furrowed and he shifted in his chair.

“Is this about him and that bottle of alcohol he disguised as a potion's vial,” the red head asked. Harry nodded.

“Apparently; it's been going on for a lot longer than previously surmised,” Harry murmured, “So, after dinner I've got to go back to McGonagall's office. I won't be in class either.”

“Wicked,” Ron said, smile in his voice, and Hermione turned to glare at him as she said, _“Not wicked,_ Ronald!Harry'll be severely behind-”

“I'm sure McGonagall won't let me miss any of my work,” Harry snorted, lying down on the couch and looking up at the soft, off white ceiling.

“Yeah, knowing her,” Ron said, making Hermione scowl and get up abruptly. Before he could be caught in another one of their scuffles, Harry said, “Let's go eat. I'm starved.”


	4. Harry Potter and the Supercilious Git

I know it says Draco/otherFem/otherMale, but the only person he's together with during the story is Harry

 

**__**

Disclaimer:  
J.K.R. Has rights to Harry Potter books 1-7...  
My father will hear about this.

* * *

“I'm not sure if you're familiar with this, Minerva, but in Draco Malfoy's case... It's a wonder that he's even alive,” Pomfrey said, sitting down and handing over the diagnostic notes she had taken on the blonde. He was currently in her wing, eating his dinner away from the rest of the hall as Minerva had advised. She was sure that more than one person had seen the spill that Malfoy had made, and would have had some commentary on it, being that they were only children. Minerva took the proffered parchment and studied it.

“Two weeks is a given miracle,” Pomfrey said, shaking her head. Minerva McGonagall's brows furrowed as she looked down at the paper.

“Except it isn't,” she supplied in a quiet tone herself.

“His organs haven't taken the brunt of what they could have, though during the two weeks he'll have to take some potions for damage,” Pomfrey said, shaking her head.

“The concern is too little damage for such an extensive attack,” McGonagall said, rolling up the parchment and setting back down in front of her with a dark scowl. Pomfrey nodded.

“He's got magic weaved around his vital organs so intricate and powerful, I wouldn't be surprised if Dumbledore himself did it,” she sighed, looking worn out, “I suspect someone else knows about the boy's condition and have gone about helping him.”

Minerva folded her hands and asked, “And if not?”

Poppy looked shocked that she would even suggest such a thing. She shook her said and insisted, “It must have been someone else. There's no way such magic could be preformed on one's self.”

The headmistress sat silently, deep in thought, before she shook her head, “It's hard to gain a hold on this. Draco Malfoy's standing as a human being is already low, and his standing in the war has just made it worse. I fear that-”

There was a knock on the door, interrupting her. She cast a swift Tempus, realizing that the boys were due to visit her office soon. Dismissing the school's healer, she granted entrance to the arrived young man.

_****_

~{D}~

Harry snapped his book shut and got up from the Gryffindor table, Ron watching with a tense jaw and Hermione watching with her mouth slightly ajar. Without saying goodbye or even looking back, Harry grabbed his piece of treacle tart and harrumphed down the Great Hall. They had been avoiding a row in the common room, but with Ron's temper and Hermione's ability to say things before thinking of the consequences, it was inevitable. So, without finishing his desert in any way satisfying, he was out of the hall.

As he ascended the castle to find McGonagall, he swallowed the desert and thought about Malfoy. It was a darkening prospect to be alone with the blonde. They had a rivalry more deeply seated than that between himself and Tom Riddle. On one side of things, the rivalry between his boyhood nemesis wasn't as filled with pure hatred. Still, there was an everlasting fire there, and Harry could only account it to the fact that they liked acting like children. They'd snap at each other because it was exciting and eventful and it gave them something to use their wands for, besides the obvious.

But a war had gone on and Harry knew how it had changed everyone. He didn't know what he was expecting from Malfoy, but he hoped it was good. The raven climbed the steps, fantasizing about a quiet Malfoy who'd pass the marmalade and 'accidentally' help him with his homework. He knocked on McGonagall's door and was granted entrance. 

As soon as he entered, an annoyed voice said, “Took you long enough, Potter.”

Harry's fantasy blew up and the ashes mixed into the bitter sand in his wounds. He scowled at Malfoy, but didn't shoot back. The blonde needed fuel to keep his flames going, and Harry wasn't anatomically related to the substance in any way.

“Of course, some of us have been breed properly enough to be on time."

“Dinner isn't even over yet, Malfoy. As far as I'm concerned, I'm not late,” he shot back, dropping into his seat and rubbing the bridge of his nose with the back of his hand.

“Leave it to you to find a way to have everyone waiting on you,” Malfoy snarled, and Harry knew he was just fighting him to fight him. Instead of replying, he sat in the other chair that stood in front of McGonagall's desk. The woman looked between them with an eyebrow raised before settling her gaze upon Harry. They asked him if he could really handle this, or if they would just start fighting again. The raven savior just shook his head.

“Are you prepared for this, Mr. Potter,” the headmistress asked. Malfoy snorted, belaying any reply Harry could have given.

“Why is it that I get stuck with Potter, of all people,” he asked, and McGonagall sent him a sharp look. She seemed to study him for a moment before replying.

“You get _stuck_ with Mr. Potter, because the whereabouts of your parents have yet to be determined, and therefore could not be consulted on what manner of action should be taken into regards to you.”

Malfoy stopped talking and just stared at her. Harry shivered because it was unlike the one he had given Madame Pomfrey in the hospital wing. No, instead of being statuesque, there was something writhing in his gaze. He looked back at the Headmistress to avoid looking at it. 

“The two of you will be situated in private living quarters for the duration of two weeks. Your works will be sent to you, and they are expected to be completed on time. The house elves will be cleaning your quarters, and stocking your pantries with food, but you have to cook on your own,” she said, rattling off a list of things they needed to know. As she said on your own she looked pointedly at Malfoy as she said this. He was still looking at her with that writhing gaze.

“Madame Pomfrey will be seeing to you three times a week, Mr. Malfoy. I sincerely advise you to do as she says, and take each and every potion she gives you.”

Instead of replying, Draco's eyes narrowed and he snorted. Harry hoped that was how the writhing gaze was shattered. He also secretly hoped that he didn't do anything to have that gaze upon him. It made him really uncomfortable for reasons that were on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t really name them.

“Come on, then,” Professor McGonagall said. She glided from behind her desk, lips set in a grave line as she led them back through her door. As they passed the gargoyle, she began talking again.

“You're living quarters shall hold you both comfortably enough.”

Harry got the feeling that she was trying to tell them, 'You're getting your own rooms, so don't kill each other.'

**__**

~{H}~

There was a flat inside Hogwarts. It had been a strange and petrifying walk there, and they had traveled through passageway after passageway. There were some unused, secret ones that Harry recognized from his map, and some that must have been new. He wondered if they would show up on the map, if he ever deemed it fit to give it a proper look. Being in one of the most obscure places in the castle, he wouldn't be surprised that this was here.

His common sense reasoned with him was that the reason that the flat looked so new was because McGonagall had asked them both to touch the door. Before departing, she had asked them to relinquish their wands. Both of them. Harry didn't know whether to talk back in indignation of be grateful. He decided to choose the latter. 

The elder woman had a purpose for everything she did, some of them being for her own personal comfort and some being for the well being of everyone. Harry chalked that up to the elderly woman's years of teaching and partially to her own human nature. As he looked around, he was glad for both of those things. She hadn't been lying when she said they'd be living comfortably. There was a kitchen right across from the living room, which was sunken in, and had shallow steps leading off out of it.

There was a fair sized island across from the kitchen counter, and atop it sat a bowl of fresh fruit, several of which, Harry had not ever seen before in his life. He supposed that it was Malfoy who liked them. Harry took to the chance to look around, walking up stairs to find a hallway of doors. Harry supposed it was to accommodate Malfoy, who had never lived anywhere with less than fifteen doors. He supposed he would come back and explore each one after he had the downstairs completely covered.

The raven turned and went back down the stairs, admiring that glass windows on the opposite wall of the banister. It was so rare that he saw a stairway lit naturally, though this wasn't natural either. They were still inside the castle, so there was no way that these could be here. Still, it was nice to have a view of Hagrid's hut from there. It felt a little reassuring, since he would not be able to see any of his friends for the next two weeks. 

Actually... now that he thought about it, he didn't actually know if he wouldn't be able to see them. He decided to ask the Headmistress about it later on, if he could figure out a way to get back to her. He then turned and headed down the stairs to explore. There was a hallway leading off to two doors. One had a great arch, and behind it sat the dining room which held Malfoy. Harry decided that he would marvel at it later. 

He turned and found that the other door was a half bathroom. He shrugged, figuring that those who ate couldn't very well go all the way up the stairs just to relieve themselves. He turned back and went into the kitchen. Harry was surprised that there wasn't a fridge, but then he remembered Hermione's ramblings. Hogwarts didn't allow electronics in the school. The raven shrugged and began opening the cabinets. He awed as he opened one, and cold air immediately filtered out. He supposed they had to do something to keep their food cold. 

He grinned. Just like muggles, wizards found ways to cope with things they didn't have. He closed up the cabinets and then stared at the fruit bowl. It was strange seeing things that he had never thought to be fruit in the bowl. As he picked up a miniature version of an orange- or maybe it was grapefruit- and idea came to light. He snapped his fingers and a house elf appeared before him.

“Enith is helping today, he is,” the house elf said happily ears bouncing as he nodded. Harry looked sadly at the elf and his ragged clothes, being forcefully reminded of Dobby. 

“Um... Could you tell me what this is,” he said, staring at the... fruit to avoid looking at the elf's bright eyes. 

“That is being a kumquat sir,” the elf squeaked back. Harry raised his eyebrows before asking, “How do I eat it?”

“You can't be that dense, Potter,” the raven heard from the door. Malfoy stood there, face annoyed and staring a hole through Harry's hand.

“I've never heard of a...-”

“You eat a _kumquat_ like you'd eat a grape. You'd think they'd have taught their Saviour more than basic math,” Malfoy said, pushing off from the wall and strolling towards the steps.

“Enith.”

“Y-yes, sir,” the house elf replied nervously to the blonde. Harry rolled his eyes at the display. It didn't surprise him that the Malfoy heir would instill fear in other house elves as well. 

“How often do you restore our food,” he asked.

“U-um... Enith and the other elves is being helpful whenever we is needed,” he replied nervously eyes darting around the room as he wrung his hands in the rags he wore. Malfoy's stare pierced him for a while longer before he asked another question  
“You give us more food whenever we need it,” Malfoy replied, rather than asked, and didn't wait for the elf's reply before he asked, “How do we know which bedrooms are ours?”

“Malfoy, even _yo_ u should be capable enough of picking your own room,” Harry snorted. Malfoy shot him a short, irritated look, gray granite eyes hard on Harry's own.

“If you were even _capable_ enough to count the fingers on your hands, you would have realized that we can't just pick our own rooms. The place is designed specifically for the both of us, and it isn't going to half arse the rooms when it's already given us an obviously muggle kitchen and a dining room fit for a manor,” he replied, tongue quick and intelligent. Harry's mouth shut and twisted like a lemon so that he didn't retort in the way that he wanted to. His hand was itching for his wand, just to cast a permanent _Silencio_ on the serpent tongued git. Malfoy had already turned his full attention back to the now extremely nervous house elf.

“E-Enith is knowing that the doors that belong to the masters will glow white 'round the edge,” the elf said. Malfoy stared at the elf a while longer after that, and Harry amused himself by thinking that the blonde needed a long time to take in any amount of information. A tribute to his denseness.

However, he choked on the kumquat he popped into his mouth when he heard a voice that sounded too much like Malfoy's say, “Thank you, Enith.”

By the time Harry saved himself, the other student had already disappeared up the steps. Regaining his coherent self, Harry asked the elf, “Is there any way we can send or receive letters?”

“There is being place for the owls in the library,” the elf replied, tears shining in its eyes as it looked up to where Malfoy had just disappeared. Harry looked up the stairs after him.

“Before his passing, Dobby is telling the house elves of his master's son,” the elf said, unprompted.

“Really? What did he say,” the raven asked, sad to hear about his favorite house elf, but also pleased, in a way. His little friend lived on in a sense, and there would be those who would never forget him.

“Dobby is chattering on about his terrible life at the Malfoy Manor,” Enith squeaked wistfully, and the raven suspected as much before the elf continued, “He is chattering more often about a young master, Draco, who is being very kind to him.”

Harry stopped the mindless nodding of his head as his tongue still in it's reminiscing of the kumquat he'd manage to ingest. His brows furrowed and then he turned to look at the little elf.

“Malfoy..? _Draco Malfoy_... was kind to Dobby,” he asked, slowly, the thought not really sinking into his head. The house elf turned to look at him strangely now, before nodding. It's ears flapped with each eager bob of it's head.

“Dobby is saying how Draco Malfoy is being like a friend to Dobby, and even allowing him to spend time with him.”

Wait. Did they have the same person here? Was this elf really repeating what he had heard from Dobby? Harry shook his head. What did it matter? The person who had been 'friends' with Dobby and the one he was rooming with were two different people. He dislodged the idea of a kind Malfoy from his head. He decided that he could send a letter to McGonagall about leaving the room. Harry dreaded being unable to leave this place with Malfoy for so long, and supposed he should prepare against it. All he needed was his book.

“Er... Enith?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“Could you bring me a drawing book? I need a new one and er... I could pay you for it,” Harry ended lamely, scratching the back of his head. Enith's eyes grew to the size of saucers, and his ears began to tear up. Harry hoped he didn't start crying. Or worse; banging his head on something.

“Oh, no! Mr. Potter is not paying Enith for anything! Enith will gladly get what Mr. Potter be needing!”

“But I want to. It's only fair-”

Harry had never heard an elf groan in annoyance until that moment. It was strange and disconcerting, really, as he watched the elf stare at him with a hard expression.

“Mr. Potter must be friends with Ms. Hermione Granger. The miss is very smart, but she does not understand elf custom very well,” he elf said, frustration clearly evident- or as evident as it could be- in its voice. Harry laughed at that. If the elves already knew what Hermione had been planning, then of course they wouldn't accept her gifts. He smiled.

“Alright then. Could I make a request?”

“Mr. Potter can request anything from Enith, so long as he is not be asking to pay me,” the elf said, wagging its long, gray finger at him. Harry laughed again.

“No, Enith. I just want really good drawing book. One larger than this,” he said, showing the elf his book. Every time he looked at it, it seemed to get smaller, “Can you do that?”

“Of course I can,” the house elf replied, nodded eagerly, and Harry smiled back. 

“Alright. You can go, thanks.”

The house elf popped away, and Harry decided to go and take a look at the dining room.

**__**

~{dm}~

Draco sat in his room thinking. He was thinking as much as he possibly could with the pounding headache in his ears and his inability to focus. If he had to guess, it was probably... three in the morning. He wouldn't get much sleep, since he never really did, but that was beside the point. He didn't want Potter barging into his room at all hours of the night while he was trying to sleep, just because he heard noises. Draco had a heard enough time dealing with it alone, with other people in his own dorm.  
He put up a silencing charm every time he actually went to sleep, and wasn't questioned. He didn't like those people, and the feeling was returned.

Potter was a different story.

He had been sent to watch him, to make sure the blonde did nothing wrong. Maybe even more than that, to make sure that Draco went through his withdrawals safely. He'd done a crap job of that too, because Draco's withdrawal had been terrible. As soon as he locked himself into his room, it started. His stomach tightened into a knot, his a headache pounded behind his eyes, and he'd tried not to throw up. He'd been lucky he made it into the bathroom in time. He had passed out underneath the spray of the shower, and Potter had complained that he was taking too long.

Honestly, they couldn't have sent anyone more incompetent to take care of Draco, though he wasn't complaining. He preferred to take care of himself. It wouldn't do to have Potter touching him, even if it was out of concern. He shivered harder, as the bouts of cold sickness had been plaguing him all day. He couldn't infer things for himself, and would brashly rush into anything his senses told him to. Which is why Draco had this problem.

He screamed when he slept. It wouldn't be so bad, if it was a normal screaming that occurred as he awoke. It wasn't. Draco could never do anything normally and this was just the next step, really. He shook looking out of his magically placed window. He huffed in irritation. There wasn't anything he could do. 

His magic wasn't strong enough to put up a silencing charm, and even if it was, Draco wouldn't have the attention span for it. He would just have to hope that the room had come with sound proof walls.

* * *

Very short chapter. 

I'm trying to compete with all the updates... Hard.


	5. Harry Potter and the Fissiaporous Git

  
Author's notes: In which Potter realizes Malfoy is sick, and Malfoy looses his mind.  


* * *

I got some good reviews so far. Please be ready for a bit of drama.

_Chapter Summary:_ In which Potter realizes that Malfoy is sick, and Malfoy loses his mind.

* * *

When Harry woke up, he felt strange. He had tried going to the bathroom.

That wasn't it.

He thought it might have been the bleariness, so he washed his face. He then spontaneously decided a shower might be a good idea.

That wasn't it either.

So, when his stomach finally made its needs known, he went down to the kitchen. He was glad that he had been forced to do chores for the past eighteen years of life, and also glad that Mrs. Weasley allowed him to help in the kitchen. He made eggs, bangers and mash, and a cup of coffee for himself. Two and a half, large spoonfuls of sugar, and a drop of creamer. 

When his belly was partially filled, he realized that even _food_ could not solve the problem. 

It was only when Draco Malfoy walked down the stairs, looking particularly rumpled, that he realized what the problem was. 

_Malfoy._

Draco Malfoy; who had not made a sound since their encounter with Enith yesterday. The very same who had locked himself in his room, and had not vacated it all night. Harry paid no mind to the fact that he had not made breakfast for the other male, though he was sure that the other would have been better off if he had. He was pretty sure that Malfoy hadn't been taught how to cook like a muggle and would end up burning himself. In fact, Harry was so sure that the things that Malfoy knew how to do for himself was so little, that he was surprised when the blonde immediately knew where the knives were.

And then he was nervous. Malfoy brandished it carefully, though the look on his face said he barely knew what he was doing. Hie eyes were half-lidded, as if he had barely just gotten up. He pulled out a strange fruit from the bowl, and pulled out a cutting board. Harry tried not to watch in rapt fascination, but the blonde's long fingers fiddled and grasped things too elegantly. Malfoy wasn't saying anything if he noticed, which wasn't hard for him to do. 

Malfoy also pulled out a bowl, and suddenly Harry wondered how he knew where everything was. Harry himself had to open all the cabinets and drawers to look at everything and memorize where it was. Malfoy had the raven on edge when he began chopping up the strange fruit semi-rapidly. Harry wanted to pull the knife from him, but was sure that that would only result in more of an injury risk than he already had. 

So, he just watched. 

Malfoy deposited the fruit slices into a bowl and grabbed a handful of what Harry now knew to be kumquats. He then grabbed a strange red fruit, and a spoon. Harry felt a bit of dread for himself as Malfoy began to climb the stairs with knife still in hand. He felt more like a nit when he only asked, “What is that yellowish fruit?”

The blonde paused on the steps, but didn't turn to the raven. Harry wondered if he had woken Malfoy out of his sleepwalking daze. He wished he hadn't when the blonde replied, “It's starfruit, you idiot.”

_****_

~{hp}~

Draco felt like crap, even after his very fruity breakfast and a shower. He had entered the kitchen once more when he was sure that Potter had disappeared, and made himself a cup of tea. He proceeded to take that tea upstairs and into the library. He then scowled. Of course, _library_ because they would be sending them their work as any second, and they _needed_ some sort of resources. Malfoy was just glad he didn't have to take potions with Slughorn.

He admitted he wasn't the greatest in potions, or at least, that he didn't use his potential. But when it all came down to it, all he needed was solitude, practice, and patience. Potions was a more practical art than anything else... Ah, but he was getting off track again. He was here to see if this place had any of the books he liked. A sigh of relief escaped him when he saw that a book by someone who he _knew_ couldn't be a witch, nor British was among all of the others. 

He paid no mind to the title, and so, with nothing better to do, he sat down to read it. He flicked page after page after page, heartbeat becoming erratic as he read on. He couldn't put it down and he couldn't figure out how much time had passed. Draco began to question the book, the author, the very _words_ on the page, and then himself.

How could this woman? How could she presume she knew about things like this, and write so blandly about them? Did she know? Had she seen war like the one Draco had; suffered through watching what the blonde had seen? Draco's stomach churned and his head began to hurt, and everything became apparent at once. The questions came much more rapid fire now, and in voices in his head that weren't his own. _How could she?_ She couldn't know. 

No one knew, no one understood. How could she, how could she- 

Wasn't he supposed to be doing his homework? Should he get it from Potter, or should he owl the headmistress? It would be pointless to owl her, he supposed, since she was the headmistress, and did take to remembering such things with an undefined grace. _Of course_ she had already sent it. That meant Potter had it in _his_ clutches. 

Draco was struggling between rescuing his work from Potter or not when his stomach turned violently. His teeth clicked as he clenched them together tightly. Anger boiled in him- he hated this. He was alone and yet he didn't have the privacy he needed. Now, his stomach was hurting, and his head was hurting, and the _fucking voices were back._

Draco didn't feel like reading anymore.

**__**

~{d}~

Harry had come up to tell Malfoy that their homework had arrived, along with a note from Madame Pomfrey. It declared that she would be coming by later with a few vials for Malfoy, and some instructions for the both of them. Harry had figured that this would be coming sooner or later. He supposed that if he wasn't ready for it by now, he'd have to acclimate at some point. With the depressing thought that he had to _take care_ of Malfoy in mind, he wandered up the steps with his school books in hand. He'd caught a glimpse of the blonde in the library earlier, since it had been right next to his own room.

Even with all of the events leading him up to this point, Harry didn't know what was stopping him. Malfoy was just sitting there, zoned out on a book. Harry was sure that he was casting a bit of a shadow in the room. He'd seen how flighty and fidgety Malfoy was, and knew he'd see the shadow any moment. Then he'd try to take off. 

That wasn't _exactly_ what happened. 

Harry could easily discern Malfoy's wavering focus. Or maybe it was anger, because those seemed the same on the blonde. And then there was a bit of sickness, and the brunette idly wondered _'Should I be paying closer attention to Malfoy?'_ Then, at last, there was blankness across Malfoy's face, but what he did next made Harry flinch so hard he dropped everything in his hands.

Malfoy threw the book.

To put it into a more accurate, unveiling sequence of events: Draco Malfoy snapped the book he had been reading closed with the sharpest sound Harry had ever heard. Even Madam Pince had never done so that sharply. He then proceeded to throw the book into the unfinished (or maybe untouched) cup of tea that sat on the coffee table. It promptly shattered with loud sharp sounds. The shrapnel then proceeded to hit Draco, the table, the floor, and everything else. Harry himself could swear some had hit him as well. 

Malfoy stood up abruptly, hopped over the back of the settee, as if he did so everyday, and breezed passed Harry. He looked wild and untamed, and his face was covered in droplets of tea, fine china and blood.

Harry never got around to asking him whether he wanted his homework.

**__**

~{p}~

Draco didn't _understand._ He had not eaten so much for his stomach to continue to seize like this. His head was spinning, the walls closing in on him and pressing him to make a decision. It was either pass out, until Pomfrey came in- because he knew she would be coming- or continue to wretch and let himself suffer through trying to complete his homework.

He supposed there was only one thing he _could_ do. 

Draco stood, stumbled a bit, and then used the doorjamb to steady himself. He cleaned his face, and then his mouth, and his mouth again. He shivered- the house had gotten extremely cold. He rubbed his shoulders and hobbled out of his room to go and find Potter. He tried the git's room first, because Draco couldn't think of any other place he'd be. The door swung open, and Potter had a mixed look on his face. Confusion, worry, intense anger and hate, and annoyance all mixed into one.

Draco tried no to laugh, and was saved by a passing convulsion from the cold. Potter's eyes became a shade closer to worry. Draco ignored it.

“I know you've got my work, Potter,” he said, staring blankly at a little unruly, black lock of the savior's hair. Potter scowled at him, and Draco hoped he had done the job of making the brunette want to get rid of him as quickly as possible. 

“You cut me, you know. When you threw that book.”

“Well, you s-shouldn't have been snooping around,” Draco's even tenor stumbled a bit over one of the words, because _damnit_ , it was cold, and he just wanted to get back into his room and underneath his duvet, and then focus on something worth focusing on. He didn't want to stand here and worry away at Potter until he got what he wanted.

“I was asked to look after you, bloody tit. I wasn't snooping,” he replied anger overtaking worry as the cold seemed to settle into the marrow of Draco's bones. He stepped back until his back hit the wall across from him and let himself shiver uncontrollably. Potter moved forward to help. Draco snarled so ferociously he almost sounded like an animal.

“You've been doing a damn fine job of that, haven't you? Don't touch me,” he growled through chattering teeth. Potter paused for a second, unsure of what to do. Draco took great, bloody, merciless satisfaction in the fact that Potter was useless. He couldn't help Draco if he wanted to, because Draco didn't want him to.

“Give me my work.”

“Malfoy, you need-”

“Potter, don't f-fancy yourself my caretaker just because McGonagall assigned you to me! Don't think you can help me, when you've done shite so far,” he gutted harshly, making Potter stumble back a step at the harsh rebuttal. Any other time, he was sure Potter would have fought back, but with guilt weighing down and staring him so blankly in the face, there was not much he could say. Draco twitched in satisfaction, and felt his stomach churn again.

“Hand it over, Potter.”

~{h}~

Draco lay face down on his bed, his books opened all around him. The cramps in his stomach began subsiding, and the blinding headache he was afraid was coming on fizzled out before even reaching its peak. He sighed in ease, flipping open a page of Binn's homework. His mind wandered, and the mutterings he used to speak the words in his book soon turned self-mutilating. His hands clenched in his sheets as his head swayed lazily from side to side. Draco's thoughts weren't quite safe. This room looked so much like his own.

Draco was losing his mind.

~{m}~

Had Harry heard the things that were going on in Malfoy's room, he might possibly have stormed in and calmed him down before Pomfrey came. However, the house was attuned to their utmost desires. Therefore, Harry had no way of knowing that Malfoy had desired soundproof walls. If he had, he would have thoroughly questioned the blonde heir what he needed them for, and he also might have become suspicious. The war had been less than a year ago; Harry was still on edge. 

None of this actually happened, however, because Harry was none the wiser. He did have a bit of worry left in him, because he had witnessed Malfoy's condition. In the few hours that had passed, he had realized that maybe he wasn't doing his job. No, he _wasn't_ doing what he was supposed to. Malfoy may have already have lost his mind, and Harry wouldn't even know. 

His old school rivalry wasn't completely secured anymore. The heat of the animosity had disappeared during the Final Battle, during his encounters with the blonde. There was one specific instance between them that Harry could probably say was the reason he _defeated_ Voldemort. 

It had brought curiosity, along with the papers, about Malfoy's being. But who would Harry be to interfere there? There weren't friends, nor even acquainted with one another. Harry couldn't say he knew anything about Malfoy, save that he had probably been spoiled when he was younger, that he was apart of Slytherin House, _barely_ , and that he had been a Seeker. 

Ratting the bugger out now had been Harry's only sense of redemption. Maybe he wouldn't be learning everything about Malfoy, but he would be close enough to sate his unusual curiosity. 

The sound of a doorbell chimed to alert him that someone was downstairs. Confusion warped Harry's face because _when had they gotten a doorbell?_ It wasn't something he could dwell on, however, when the fact remained that it was most likely Madame Pomfrey. He hopped out of bed, raced down the stairs, and opened the door. Madame Pomfrey stood with a strange looking valise in here hand, which had a crest on it.

“Good afternoon, Harry.”

“Hello, Madame.”

“Where is Draco? In the kitchens, I hope. What with him losing his food every few minutes-”

“E-excuse me, what,” Harry asked incredulously, face twisting at the idea of Malfoy having been sick all over his room. He hadn't gone to check on the sorry git since he had given him his homework. He was not up to facing the hostility and the charges that were undoubtedly _true_. 

Pomfrey eyed him before giving him a look a disappointment. Harry felt the shock of it settle into his stomach as he looked away. She said, “Some people may not know it, Mr. Potter, but Draco... Draco is sick. He is being purged of his reliance on alcohol in the most... devastating of ways.”

“Oh,” was all Harry could breathe, because he didn't know that at all. He didn't really care about the blonde tit, but went Pomfrey said it like that, it sounded as if he was... suffering. 

“I-I'll take you to him, then,” he said, turning and walking up the stairs without waiting for the Madame to follow. Harry didn't know why there was a fast approaching foreboding settling in over him. Maybe it was just the guilt he still felt for not doing his job. Because he _was_ here to take care of Malfoy, wasn't he?

He knocked on the blonde's door and shot a brief look at Pomfrey. His guilt still held firm and he quickly looked away. He knocked on the blonde's door again after a minute. Madame Pomfrey tutted, turned the knob, and forcefully shoved the door open. 

Bam!

Harry's hand flew for his wand before he even realized that he didn't have one. His eyes noticed Pomfrey's silent shield charm and his hackles raised. The sound of something slamming into something else made the raven jump.

“Out, out,” Malfoy's voice exclaimed from inside the room. Madame Pomfrey stepped in and said, “I will do no such thing.”

Harry caught sight of the blond just as he spun around. His eyes were wide and angry. His face was smudged with dark spots, as if he had stepped from the floo. It was just then that Harry's eyes scanned the rest of the room. Everywhere, pieces of broken things lie scattered about. There was a shattered vase and a bookshelf that looked as if it had crumbled in upon itself. A soft looking settee and other, smaller plush chairs were marred by scorch marks or torn apart. There was a coffee table that had been over turned and snapped in half. Finally, Harry noticed that where there _should_ have been a been was empty space, and a pile of ash and scorch marks over the floor.

Harry wondered how Malfoy had gotten the fire to set these things to.

“Draco,” Pompfrey said kindly, and Malfoy thudded down against one of the scorched, plush chairs. 

“What do you want _now_ ,” he moaned. Harry contained a snort; of course Malfoy thought the world was a bother to him.

“I've brought you something,” and she pulled out a gleaming bottle of brown liquid. The label read _Ron Abuelo Centuria_ and Harry didn't know why he got the impression that it was muggle rum. Malfoy's eyes followed the bottle.

“Añejo doce años,” he read reverently in lilted Spanish, “Aged twelve years. If you protected it just right with magic...”

“Come on, have it,” Pomfrey said, and Harry looked at her as if she had gone mad. Weren't they supposed to be helping him quit? Malfoy stumbled out of his seat, shivering violently. He reached out a hand and snatched the bottle from Pomfrey, who looked at him sadly. He then proceeded to send the unopened bottle whizzing closely passed Harry's head. He vaguely registered the shatter.

“D-don't fuck with me. Havin' a go, takin' the m-mickey outta me, yeh? I said I-I would quit, 'nd I meant it,” Malfoy's words slurred into an accent that Harry didn't recognized. He slumped back down into the chair. Pomfrey's eyebrows raised as her eyes widened, and she nodded.

“Alright, Draco. I understand. I'm going to go now, and I'm going to leave Harry with your medication... He's here to help you okay,” she asked soothingly, as if she was talking to a beast. Malfoy's eyes slid shut an he groaned again before nodding. Pomfrey proceeded to drag Harry from the room.

Once they were seated in the kitchen, Pomfrey began her tirade, “Mr. Potter, you were assigned to take care of Mr. Malfoy, not let him destroy himself.”

“I-I know but-”

“But? Potter, it is a simple task. Are you unable to do it because Malfoy is your boyhood rival? Are you telling me now, that because you and your friends don't agree with him, that you're going to let him -”

“No!”

Harry's breathing had increased speed a little bit, but Pomfrey still noticed. She sighed and said, “Harry... The fight may be over, but the war still wages. People will turn away Mr. Malfoy because they believe that he is truly the scum of the Earth. I hope you may not be one of them.”

She then proceeded to lay out potion after potion before him, and explained in which order Malfoy should take them. Harry listened over-adamantly; he would not be framed for the improper care of Malfoy again.

“I will only be returning once before the end of his rehabilitation is over. Please do try to take care of him until then.”

“Yes madame.”

**__**

~{dm}~

Harry had been awake prior to hearing the bathroom door slam open. It was a godawful time in the middle of the night, and honestly, Harry had _tried_ to sleep. But nightmares, among other worried prevented it. So he was up quickly when the door slammed, ready to avert his mind to something a little less frightening.

He stepped out and into the hallway, and followed the sound of retching. Malfoy lean over the toilet bowl, defaced and trembling. Harry stepped up to him, fighting his nerves and his instincts. 

“Malfoy,” he called softly, and the blonde twitched. Harry slid open the cabinet above the sink and pulled out the vial he had labeled stomach. He then knelt next to the blond and pulled his hair from his face. Harry watched his stomach seize over and over, and he waited, holding the blonde's hair. He now noticed how long it had gotten; it ended evenly at the middle of the blonde's back. It was thick, and smooth to the touch. Harry decided not to notice that he was thinking about the texture of the blond's hair. Finally, when the blond was done, Harry gently tilted his head back.

“Here,” he said, uncorking the bottle. He watched as Malfoy's too pale lips opened as he tipped its contents. Harry heard him swallow loudly, and then sigh.

“Come on then,” Harry said, lifting the blond so that he could stand. He led him out into the hallway and abruptly realized that Malfoy's bed had been burned to nothing. Carefully, he led the blond to his own room. He didn't know if Malfoy would mind, nor if he would burst out and hit Harry, or something along those lines.

“Into bed with you-”

“No,” and Malfoy began struggling weakly against him. Harry grunted and sighed angrily.

“Fine then! I'll just make a place for you on the floor!”

Immediately, Malfoy sagged. Harry had only said that to be vehement, but he supposed now that that would be a better idea. It meant he could watch Malfoy and still keep his bed to himself.

He got up and began pulling extra bed things from his closet, which he hadn't known would be there, but had hoped. He laid them out beside his bed, and helped lay Malfoy down.

“Okay?”

“Mmf,” muttered the blond from where his face lie in the pillow. Harry sighed and hoped things would not be like this for the rest of their stay here. When his head hit the pillow, he was already asleep.

**__**

~{avspin}~

When Harry awoke in the morning, what did he expect but for Malfoy to be gone. He slipped from bed, and stuck his head out of the door. The sound of the shower running indicated the blonde's whereabouts. He decided he would take one after Malfoy, and to kill time, he would go downstairs and eat breakfast.

He stopped dead when he saw the kitchen. 

It was immaculate- as it had been yesterday. But today, there was a spread upon the counter. He came closer and fell in love upon inspection. Peaches in crème sat in a small bowl to the left of the main dish, which consisted of toast with jam, sunny side up eggs, and three pieces of bacon. A bit of treacle tart was to the side of the peaches, and in a rather large mug sat still steaming coffee. Upon further inspection, Harry found it contained two and a half, large spoonfuls of sugar, and a drop of creamer, and was brewed to perfection. On the side of all this was a small dish that held slices of starfruit ( Harry saw how they obtained their name) and a little slip of parchment that held an elegant scrawl.

_Thank you._

* * *

Ouch. I'm sorry for leaving this for so long, guys.

On another note, I KNOW that voices and unfocused attention are symptoms of Schizophrenia. Draco doesn't have that, though it would make things interesting. He has something else, so please be on the lookout. 

I also know its out of character for Malfoy to make anyone breakfast, but... there's going to be a lot more OOC things out there... maybe...

_~Lee._


End file.
